


feel a little crazy (but for me)

by girlpearl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/pseuds/girlpearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete has spent a lot of time thinking about Patrick's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel a little crazy (but for me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Giddygeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giddygeek/gifts).



> This was inspired by [concinnity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/concinnity), who says things about Patrick's mouth sometimes. It's for [Giddygeek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GiddyGeek) because I liked [Chord Change](http://giddygeek.livejournal.com/145925.html) and I didn't have ten dollars. Sorry, Giddy!

Pete has spent a lot of time thinking about Patrick's mouth.

Whatever, he's not going to pretend he hasn't. First of all, Pete doesn't really do subtle, so pretty much anybody who's ever seen him around Patrick already knows this about him. Secondly, Pete doesn't really do self-restraint; he'd challenge anyone to spend as much time around Patrick as he does and _not_ think about Patrick's mouth. It's right there!

If Pete were a better man, point three would probably be something about integrity or being honest with himself or, you know, _not perving on his best friend_. But Pete is not a better man, he is Pete Wentz, and so it turns out to be this instead: Thirdly, Patrick's mouth is currently sucking a bruise onto Pete's hipbone, so Pete can't really see the point in pretending he's never thought about this before.

It wasn't the first thing about Patrick he noticed—that whole argyle, sweater-vest, sideburns... _thing_ had been kind of distracting—but it wasn't far behind. Patrick's mouth is pretty hard not to notice. His lips are pink and full and soft, and Pete couldn't tell you how many times he's fantasized about just kissing Patrick, sucking on that lush lower lip until Patrick moaned and then biting it, dragging his teeth across it and then soothing away the bite with his tongue.

It turned out that reality was even better than his fantasies. When Patrick had kissed him, leaned forward one afternoon in the middle of a conversation about nothing in particular and pressed their lips together, Pete hadn't been expecting it; he'd been a little shocked. But caught off guard doesn't mean unprepared, and Pete hadn't hesitated before sliding a hand around Patrick's neck, pulling him close and _holding_ him there. He knew better than to twist his fingers in Patrick's hair like he really wanted, but no way in hell was Pete letting him go.

Pete opened his mouth against Patrick's, totally unwilling to hold back after waiting so long—if Patrick was going to give him this, Pete was going to take whatever he could get—and felt Patrick's lips part. Patrick's tongue traced along Pete's upper lip, drawing a little _”huh_ ” in response, and then he pulled away slowly, sucking on Pete's lower lip before releasing it with a slick pop. Pete didn't let go of Patrick's neck, and Patrick didn't try to escape, just knocked his forehead against Pete's and closed his eyes.

“Really?” Pete asked. Patrick nodded. “Fuck,” Pete said, “fucking _finally_ , Trick.” He could feel the grin stretching across his face, and then Patrick looked up at him, mouth curved into a knowing smile, and Pete laughed.

\---

Pete had been prepared to go slowly; he’d waited years for Patrick to be ready, waited patiently through Anna and Kelsey and Bob, had even waited patiently (if not precisely quietly) through whatever the hell Patrick and Travie had been doing. He let Patrick decide it was time, he let Patrick make the first move, and he was _perfectly happy_ (mostly) to let Patrick set the pace.

Which turned out to be a good thing, because Patrick apparently had no intention of going slow. Two days after their first kiss, Patrick cornered Pete backstage before a show, shoved him up against the wall, and bit down on his neck while he pressed a thigh hard between Pete’s legs. 

“Holy fuck, _Patrick_ ,” Pete said, digging his fingers into Patrick’s shoulders. “Patrick, Patrick, what--we don’t have to,” he managed. “We can--oh _god_ \--as slow as you, oh, oh, _Patrick_.”

Patrick pulled off with a groan. “Fuck slow,” he said, “I’m tired of waiting, Pete.”

It was a dizzying thought--that Patrick had been _waiting_ , that he was as impatient for this as Pete was--that he’d been _wanting Pete--_ Pete was overwhelmed, and pulled Patrick back in for a hungry, grasping kiss. “Fuck,” he swore, and sunk his teeth into Patrick’s lip. Patrick gasped and Pete let go, swiping his tongue over the imprint left by his teeth.

Patrick rolled his forehead against Pete’s shoulder, panting, red-faced and overwhelmed. “Jesus, Pete,” he gasped, and slid his hand between them to cup Pete’s dick through his jeans. Pete groaned as Patrick groped him and couldn’t help the way his hips jerked forward. “Fuck,” Patrick said, “fuck, I just, I gotta get my mouth on you, _please_ , Pete.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, mindlessly--he’s not going to tell Patrick no under most any circumstances, but certainly not like _this_ \--”Yeah, okay, yes,” as he fumbled with the buckle on his studded belt. 

Patrick made a wounded noise and grabbed Pete’s wrist, pushing it up against the wall next to his head. “We can’t,” he whined, eyes pressed tightly closed. “Fuck, Pete, I have to sing in, like, ten minutes. I can’t--my _voice,_ Pete.”

Pete groaned, shoving his dick back up against Patrick’s thigh. He’d never before come close to regretting his decision to make Patrick their lead singer, but right at that moment... “After,” he gasped, pushing his face against Patrick’s cheek. “After, Patrick, please, please, promise me,” he begged, suddenly terrified that Patrick was going to change his mind over the next hour or two, going to come to his senses and leave Pete like this, desperate and wanting and _alone_.

“Fuck yes,” Patrick told him. He slid his hands down to cup Pete’s ass and pull him snug against himself, and Pete could feel Patrick’s cock, hot and hard against his own, when Patrick ground their hips together in a sort of shockingly filthy move. “Just gotta get through the show,” he murmured against Pete’s neck, “and then I can suck you off; god, _Pete_ , I want, I--I _have to_ \--”

Pete cut him off with a kiss. “Don’t,” he said into Patrick’s mouth, “don’t, I can’t, fuck, it’s hard enough for me to watch you up there every night.” He pulled back an immeasurably tiny amount and chuckled wryly. “You tell me what you want to do to me tonight...” Pete shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the kind of show you want to put on.”

Patrick smirked, nudging Pete’s dick with his thigh. Unfair. “I might be more open to persuasion than you think,” he said, but he was already slipping away. 

Pete does not remember a single thing about that night’s show.

\---  
Pete kicks Joe off the bus without a twinge of guilt or embarrassment. If Patrick asks, he’ll say he told Joe they wanted to do some writing. What he actually said was, “Stay or go, I don’t care, but if you don’t want to hear us fucking--” and Joe had been gone, taking a stack of DVDs with him.

Patrick doesn’t ask. As soon as Pete steps through the door, Patrick grabs him by the shirt and swings him around, and they’re kissing, and then they’re kissing on the bed, and then Patrick is kneeling over Pete, hands pressed flat against his chest while they’re kissing on the bed, and Pete feels like he’s missed every single one of his cues tonight, but Patrick is still carrying him along.

“Pete,” Patrick is gasping into his mouth, “Pete, Pete, _Pete_ ,” and it finally registers, that’s his name, Patrick is saying his name, he’s asking for something, but when he tries to respond, all that escapes is a whine. “Pete, no, come on,” Patrick says, and now he sounds almost annoyed, “take your fucking shirt off, jesus, it didn’t used to be this hard to get you naked, Wentz.”

Pete can’t hold back a laugh at that, and he turns his face away from Patrick’s kisses. “Maybe I’m not that kind of girl anymore,” he says, smirking, “maybe I want some reassurance that you’re not going to leave me high and dry once you’ve had your wicked way with me.”

Patrick pulls back and stares until Pete looks back at him. “Pete,” he says, suddenly serious, “over the past few years, I have been blessed with both ample opportunity and considerable motivation to leave you. If I were going to do it--if I were _capable_ of it--it would’ve happened long before now.”

Pete’s chest tightens and he bites his lip against the air that wants to rush out of his body. “Patrick,” he says, hesitantly. 

Patrick leans in and kisses him. “Can I please stop talking about my feelings and just blow you? If that’s okay with you?”

Pete blinks, hard, just once, like he's pressing away the hesitation with his eyelids. “Well, shit,” he says. “Don't let me stop you.”

Patrick smirks at him and the fluttering panic in Pete's stomach settles low and heavy into lust. “You think too much,” Patrick says. Pete opens his mouth to laugh but groans loudly instead as Patrick sinks his teeth into Pete's neck, licking at his captive pulse. He pulls off with a filthy slurping noise, and Pete's dick _throbs_. Patrick looks up at Pete from under his lashes. His pupils are dilated and his mouth is pink and wet, lips swollen already.

He looks obscene, in absolutely the best possible way, and Pete—he's been waiting for _so long_. He reaches up and drags his fingers across Patrick's lower lip. Patrick moans and opens his mouth, sucks in Pete's fingers and strokes his tongue over the tips of them. He tips his head forward, taking Pete's fingers deeper until he's tonguing the webbing where they join the palm. Pete crooks his fingers and Patrick hums happily, swallowing around them.

Pete's hips push up against Patrick's without any conscious intent on his part, and Patrick drops Pete's hand, gasping, and presses his forehead to Pete's shoulder. “Pete,” he manages, “please, Pete, god, no more teasing, let me—”

“Yes,” Pete cuts him off, can't listen to Patrick _begging_ anymore. “Yes, fuck, Patrick, come on--”

Patrick sits up and pushes his hands under Pete's t-shirt. “Off,” he says, and Pete obligingly lifts his arms over his head. Patrick pulls the shirt off and dips his head to press his mouth over Pete's nipple. “I miss the piercing,” he admits, and the buzz of his voice against Pete's skin is like electricity.

“I'll get it done again,” Pete says, trying not to squirm, but not really caring when he fails. “I'll get them both done.”

“Don't,” Patrick says, dragging a wet, sliding kiss down Pete's breastbone, and Pete's confused for a second, but then Patrick continues, shifting his body toward the foot of the bed: “don't bother,” another kiss on his belly, just above the bartskull, “I don't need them,” as Patrick tugs at the button of his jeans, pulling them open and jerking them down over his hips. He gets them about halfway down Pete's thighs before he's apparently satisfied,

He leans forward and sucks Pete's cock into his mouth. Pete's quickly-stifled gasp does nothing to cover up the way Patrick is moaning around his dick; fuck, even if he couldn't feel it, the sound alone would be so hot—but he _can_ feel it, the way Patrick's throat vibrates around the head of his cock. Pete digs his fingers into the sheets and tries his best not to shove his dick down Patrick's throat.

Patrick pulls off a little, sucking hard, and pinches the inside of Pete's thigh. Pete bites his lip on a whimper and Patrick twists a little before letting go and running his thumb firmly over the sore spot. Pete hopes it will bruise. He's trying to picture it when Patrick wraps his hand around the base of Pete's dick and squeezes lightly, rubbing his fingertips in absent circles, pulling Pete out of his mouth.

“I want to hear you,” Patrick says, “don't you fucking hold back on me now, not after all this time.” Pete shakes his head and Patrick smiles. “Good,” he says. He sucks on the head of Pete's cock, wet and sloppy and sweet, his lush lip catching that sensitive spot on the underside.

“Fuck,” Pete cries out, “fuck, _Patrick_.” Patrick presses his tongue where his lip had just been, cups Pete's balls in one hand and rubs his thumb in slow, firm circles over them. Pete whines, and Patrick smiles. It should look ridiculous, with his mouth full of Pete's dick, but nothing about Patrick looks ridiculous at this moment—he's flushed and sweaty and his hair is a wreck, and he looks like every one of Pete's best fantasies. “Oh god,” Pete gasps out. “Patrick, you look—god, you look so good.”

Patrick lets Pete's dick slip out of his mouth, one bright string of saliva stretching briefly from his lip before snapping when Patrick speaks. “I've wanted to do this—pretty much forever,” he confesses, wrapping his free hand around the base of Pete's cock and stroking once firmly, sharply. “Wanted to put my mouth all over you—kiss your mouth and suck on your neck and leave bite marks on your thighs,” he says, and Pete moans at the thought of it, of Patrick's mouth touching him everywhere, marking him--”but fuck, I wanted to suck your cock so badly.”

Pete makes a grabbing motion in Patrick's general direction. “Please,” he says, “yes, Patrick, god, your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. He bites Pete on his hip, right over the bone. “Okay.” He sucks Pete's dick down again and Pete closes his hand on Patrick's shoulder, squeezing hard. Patrick's hands are kneading Pete's thighs and he's making these blissed-out little moany noises, and Pete thinks he knows exactly how Patrick feels—thinks there might not be anything in the world that feels better than Patrick's perfect fucking mouth.

It's not long before Pete's gasping and digging his fingertips into Patrick's shoulder, choking out his name, “Patrick, Patrick, oh, fuck, I'm—ngh!” He breaks off with a grunt as he comes, curling his shoulders up off the mattress while Patrick swallows hungrily around him.

Patrick keeps sucking gently until Pete's cock goes soft and he lets it slip out of his mouth. He's breathing heavily, red-faced and unfocused, as he crawls up the bed over Pete, shoving his own pants down as he goes. “God, I need to fuck you,” he pants, catching Pete's mouth with a deep, bruising kiss. Pete can taste himself in Patrick's mouth and it's all so overwhelming, he can't even think.

Patrick kicks off his jeans and pushes Pete's further down his legs. He's thrusting his dick against Pete's hip, hard and slick sliding over Pete's skin. “Trick, Trick, hang on,” Pete says, trying to pull Patrick's shirt off and get his own jeans off at the same time. He's more-or-less successful with the jeans, getting one leg free and kicking them aside so they're hanging from his other ankle. Patrick isn't cooperating, though, and he's left with the t-shirt rucked up under Patrick's arms.

The important part, though, is that he's managed to expose Patrick's chest, his belly, all of his pale skin that nobody ever gets to see—nobody but Pete, now, he thinks, and runs his hands down over Patrick's chest and his stomach, sliding them around Patrick's waist to curl them over the small folds of flesh above his hips.

“Pete,” Patrick says warningly, but Pete just grins and bites his bottom lip.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he says, “I'm never taking my hands off you again.”

Patrick laughs sharply. “God, when have you ever,” he says, and tosses his head to flick his hair out of his eyes.

Pete slides his hands down to Patrick's ass and squeezes. “I don't know,” he says, “I'm pretty sure this is new.”

Patrick groans and shoves against Pete again, and Pete loves the feel of Patrick's muscles flexing under his hands. “Yeah, I'd probably remember this.”

“Christ I hope so,” Pete laughs, and kisses Patrick again. He's a world-famous rock star, and he's lying on a hotel bed with his best friend rubbing off on his leg. His life is _ridiculous_. He couldn't be happier with it.

Patrick comes with a stuttering groan. He tries to roll off of Pete, but Pete holds tight, pulls Patrick against him. “Awesome,” Patrick says, “I was just thinking how much I wanted to lie in a puddle of my own jizz.”

“Fair's fair,” Pete says, shrugging. He drags his fingers through Patrick's hair and kisses his neck. “You've got kind of a dirty mouth, Stump,” he says philosophically.

“Yeah,” Patrick shrugs. “Pretty sure you love it.”

Pete's not going to pretend he doesn't.


End file.
